


Big Mistake

by Anonymous



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, BAMF Castiel (Supernatural), Castiel (Supernatural) to the Rescue, Emotionally Hurt Castiel (Supernatural), Emotionally Hurt Sam Winchester, Exhausted Sam Winchester, Hurt Castiel (Supernatural), Hurt Sam Winchester, M/M, Multi, Protective Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-10-20 07:34:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17618180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: The fight to save Dean has worn them so thin that Sam doesn’t see the threat until it’s too late to do anything about it.Hurt, exhausted, outnumbered and vulnerable, his only hope is his angel brother nearby.Cas does not take kindly to people who try to harm his family.





	Big Mistake

“We could stop,” Cas says. His eyes don’t leave the road, but Sam knows the angel is _looking_ at him all the same. “Find a motel and rest tonight.”

It’s a tempting offer. Sam’s been using every trick in the book to stay awake since they left Brenton, bruised, battered, and ultimately with little to show for it since the man who might have been able to help them, help Dean, was dead before they even got there.

And the pack of Michael’s monsters who killed him were waiting for them to show up. It took both of them to survive that, and Sam still feels guilty at the fact that Cas, as hurt as Sam is himself, has driven now five solid hours without a break.

And is only offering to stop so he, Sam, can get some rest.

But then Cas isn’t likely to drive them into a ditch because he’s exhausted.

“Just…”. God, the thought of a bed, even one rock hard, and covered in questionable stains, even in a room ridden with damp and with insect colonies in the corners, feels like a sweet dream. But then he sees the rest stop up ahead, the lights of the gas station and the convenience store. “I’ll get some coke,” he finishes. “Sugar rush, something to eat, I’ll be okay.”

Cas doesn’t look convinced, but he pulls in, and says if Sam needs to use the restroom, then he’ll fill the truck up and grab him something from the store.

He nods, gratefully, and sways towards the john.

It’s filthy inside, but he’s too tired to turn his nose up overly much. He does tug his sleeve over his hand before he runs the tap, and then splashes the cold water over his face.

He doesn’t feel old enough to put this down to _getting old_ but all the same he’d taken worse beatings and got back up and carried on.

Right now, he honestly feels he could lie down on that filthy floor and sleep until Thanksgiving.

He’s just so tired.

Forearms braced on the sink, hygiene concerns a worry he doesn’t have energy to spare for, Sam dips his head. He shuts his eyes. He just needs a minute, to silence the trembling voice in his head, that seems to sap his strength worse than the fight, that tells him all of this is pointless.

They will lose Dean, and all they’re doing is trying to delay the inevitable, and doing a poor fucking job of that.

It’s maybe why he doesn’t hear them come in. It’s maybe why they’ve formed up in a tight semi circle around him by the time the first one speaks.

“Hey, fella.”

Sam’s reflexes are dulled with a weariness that goes beyond simple physical exhaustion, and anyway, glancing at them through the mirror, he gets a feeling spinning around to confront them is not the best idea.

He straightens up, slowly, and then he turns around.

There are five of them. None of them are his height, but their build is comparable and he knows if they want trouble he might be in it.

He’s outnumbered and in no condition to be fighting one guy let alone this many.

 _Cas_ , he thinks, and hopes, as Dean would say, that the angel has his ears on.

And then, as if to make matters worse, another one comes in, and stands by the door, peeking out before locking it, and turning around to lean his weight against it.

LIke he’s getting comfy for some kind of show.

“Other one’s in the store,” he says. “Gotta make this quick.”

They’re on him that fast. One slams out a punch that Sam barely manages to block, that sends a bone deep ache through his arm and into his shoulder. 

But they fight like they’ve done this before, with a practised co-ordination. Shifting to stop the first guy from hitting him exposes his flank to the guy on his right, and Sam feels a bone cracking blow land just behind his ear.

It nearly puts him on his knees, and that voice earlier telling him Dean was lost is now screaming at him not to go down.

If he does…

Sam isn’t sure what they want, if this is a robbery or just the local bullies needing to bleed off some testosterone by roughing somebody up, but if he lets them get him on the floor, it won’t end well.

The thing is, he can’t defend against all of them, and within moments, he’s getting pummelled. His height does him no favours, the edge it would normally give him blunted by the numbers he’s facing.

So, while he doesn’t go down to his knees, he does go down, slammed back first into the sink (the crushing band of pain across his lower back steals his breath away) and then allowed to slump down as his body quits on him.

It’s then he realises this isn’t a robbery. It isn’t a beating, either, or least that’s not their main intent. The violence was just to take the fight out of him, and now he sees what’s next.

They haul him to the middle of the floor, and their hands are sharp and clutching as they rip at his shirt, tear open his fly with enough force to have the buttons chinking off to every corner of the restroom.

One of them grabs his jaw, and forces Sam’s head to an angle and he can guess what that’s for. 

He feels scratches and bites, and a few more punches that are for nothing other than to hurt him and drive out the last, bitter fight in him.

One of them presses his knee to Sam’s groin, and they laugh as he grunts at the pain.

He’s not praying to Cas, now; he’s screaming to him, because there’s no way he can stop this.

The guy by the door is laughing right up until it practically explodes inward, smashing him across the room and into the far wall.

The guys holding Sam down yell out, and duck and then turn to see what the fuck that was.

The answer is six foot of battle ready, pissed off angel, eyes gleaming with a rage Sam hasn’t seen in a long time, as he takes in the scene before him.

“Get off of him,” he says, and the men surge to their feet and charge at him.

Sam doesn’t know if they actually think they have a chance against Cas, or if they’re trying to flee and he’s just in the way, but Cas is an expert at controlling fights in tight, confined spaces.

He keeps it there, in that narrow gap around the door, and later, playing it back in his mind, Sam realises that was deliberate. 

Cas kept their focus there, on him, because he only had a boundary of a few feet before the fight reached Sam, lying helpless on the floor.

Two of the fuckers who jumped him are punched to the deck a second after rushing the angel. The next three are a little more cautious, but a heady mix of rage and fear (probably, Sam thinks, because they’re used to owning every situation like this, and that’s not happening this time) don’t help.

One of them has a knife, and he slashes out, drawing a line of blood across Cas’s cheek.

Cas acts like it never happened, and delivers a back handed slap that spins the guy off his feet and sends him crashing onto the sinks.

Two break, and he falls to the floor on top of the thick fragments, with water spilling down on to him from the damaged plumbing.

That leaves two, and by now Sam would have thought they’d be smart and just surrender, but maybe in for a penny, in for a pound.

It makes no difference. One goes flying through the wall of the nearest cubicle, collapsing it in on himself.

The other finds himself dangling from Cas’s grip, feet kicking at the air.

“That’s my brother,” Cas says. “And no one hurts my family.”

He turns, holding the man’s weight effortlessly, and then just tosses him. 

It hurts Sam to lift his head, but it’s worth it to see the guy go skidding along the forecourt, the ground tearing him up, before he comes to rest a good twenty feet away.

And then Cas is kneeling down next to him, and Sam doesn’t resist when the angel scoops him up into his arms.

The warm, comforting tingle of Grace spreads through him, healing the worst of the damage done by these fuckers, and taking the edge off his exhaustion.

Cas is trembling by the time he’s done, but it’s more than enough. They help each other up, and Sam feels his own rage flare up when he realises the knife cut on Cas’s face is still weeping, sluggishly.

They’re walking wounded, the pair of them, but they get each other back to the truck, and they get out of there, Sam driving this time, and after maybe half an hour, Sam pulls in long enough to change the plates, and use some butterfly stitches on Cas’s cheek until his Grace can kick in.

He doesn’t say anything about what almost happened, and Cas doesn’t ask, because he doesn’t need to.

Thanks to Cas, thanks to his angel brother, it didn’t happen. 

And that…. Sam’s life has taught him that has to be good enough. There will always be close calls but there will also, always, be his family to pull him through.


End file.
